


No Truth

by ellerkay



Series: Bad Romance [6]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plane sex, Shame, Truck Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerkay/pseuds/ellerkay
Summary: Despite his better instincts, Mulder has sex with Krycek on a plane to Russia. And in the back of a truck in Russia. But not in a Russian gulag.Set during S4E8, "Tunguska." The sixth in a series showcasing the times Mulder and Krycek had sex during seasons 1-7, written to fit as closely as possible into the cracks of canon. Each story is fairly self-contained.





	No Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This story's title is taken from one of Krycek's lines from this episode: "The truth, the truth! There's no truth. These men, they make it up as they go along."

With the addition of Krycek to his flight, Mulder had to accept seats in coach, if he didn’t want them separated. And he wasn’t willing to let an unhandcuffed Krycek out of his sight for that long.

So, Mulder crammed his large frame into one of the tiny seats. And no matter how he positioned himself, his arm and knee were pressed against Krycek’s. Mulder was fairly certain that Krycek, who was shorter and slighter, could have changed his position enough so that the physical contact was at least diminished. But he hadn’t. Of course.

Krycek had been surprisingly quiet since Mulder had pulled him out of the car, barely saying a word as they went through security and boarded the plane. But since they’d been seated, he kept looking at Mulder. At first, he’d been subtle about it. Mulder would feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and glance up to see Krycek’s eyes sliding away. But the looks had gotten longer, and now, instead of simply peeking out of the corner of his eye, Krycek was turning his head and staring.

Mulder finally looked back. “What?” he snapped. Krycek said nothing, but licked his lips and smiled at Mulder, his intention all too clear. Mulder felt himself flushing with anger and desire, and cursed internally. He looked away.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Try anything and you’re a dead man,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“What am I going to try at thirty thousand feet?” Krycek drawled. Mulder could actually hear the smirk in his voice.

Krycek was damn lucky it would be more trouble than it was worth to punch him again, right here.

Mulder got up and walked to the back of the plane. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. For a long moment he stared at the lock. His heart was pounding and he felt slightly nauseous.

He didn’t lock the door.

The room stayed dim as Mulder splashed some water on his face, then dried it off with a rough paper towel. He looked at himself in the mirror, feeling strangely divorced from the image, like it wasn’t his face he was seeing.

The door opened, and Mulder made room as best he could, while Krycek entered and locked the door behind him. The lights brightened.

Krycek didn’t say anything, just looked at Mulder for a long moment with an odd, vulnerable expression on his face. Mulder knew better than to buy it, but despite himself, he still pitied Krycek a little. He couldn’t help but wonder if some of it was real, even though he knew he couldn’t trust any of it.

Krycek leaned forward suddenly and kissed Mulder briefly but hard on the lips. He pulled back fast, wincing like he thought he was about to get hit.

Mulder thought about hitting him; knowing it was what he should do, knowing it was what Krycek deserved. Instead, he shoved Krycek against the wall and kissed him hard, hoping he would bruise his lips, using his teeth and hoping it would hurt.

Krycek kissed him back just as hard and moaned wantonly, the sound painfully familiar, even two years after Mulder had last heard it. He was erect, hips working slightly as he rubbed against Mulder’s leg; he was sliding his hand between their bodies and pressing it to Mulder’s groin. Mulder had been getting hard since before he got up to use the bathroom, and he bit back the sound of pleasure which threatened to escape at the warmth and friction of Krycek’s hand.

“Listen,” Krycek gasped, when Mulder finally let him up for air. “Listen, Fox, I – ”

“No talking,” Mulder said. There was something pained and desperate in Krycek’s face, and Mulder couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand to feel sympathy for this Judas, couldn’t risk falling for his lies again.

Krycek’s face fell, but he just nodded.

“Turn around. And pull down your pants.”

Krycek’s mouth fell open slightly, his pupils dilated. He turned around slowly, then unbuttoned his pants and shoved them and his underwear down. Mulder pumped some lotion into his palm from the container by the sink, and slicked his cock. He held onto Krycek’s hip, positioned himself, and pushed in with one fast movement.

“Ah! Jesus, fuck, yes,” Krycek gasped, a little too loudly for a bathroom in a crowded airplane.

“I said shut up, Alex,” Mulder said. He waited for a moment, letting the other man adjust, cursing himself for being even that kind. Hell, if precedent counted for anything, Krycek probably didn’t even want him to wait; but he did anyway, his face too close to Krycek’s neck, breathing in his scent. Finally, he eased out and then shoved back in again. Krycek groaned, bracing himself against the bathroom wall.

They didn’t speak as Mulder set a fast tempo. Krycek was panting harshly, head thrown back, making needy little sounds. After a couple minutes, he wrapped a hand around his cock. It was his good wrist; the other, still steadying him against the wall, was red and swollen from holding his weight off Skinner’s balcony earlier. Mulder thought it must hurt, but he still couldn’t care enough to lend a hand.

Instead, he fucked Krycek faster, harder; not sure if it was punishment or mercy. This way it would be over faster (for which of their sakes?), and, he knew what Krycek liked. Krycek came with a choked cry and a word in Russian, painting the wall with his release. The clench of his muscles tore a groan from Mulder’s throat and he came hard, head spinning in the too-warm little room.

He wanted to collapse forward, but instead Mulder pulled out abruptly. He grabbed a couple paper towels and shoved them into Krycek’s hands.

“Clean that,” he said, pointing at the wall. “And then get out of here. I need to wash up.”

Krycek looked indignant. “What about me?”

“You can pull up your pants before you leave.”

Krycek glared at him, looking furious and – Mulder’s stomach lurched – upset. _He’s conning you,_ he reminded himself. _He’s always lying._ Mulder didn’t let him stay, but he also didn’t say anything when Krycek swiped defiantly at his own body before wiping the wall, pulling up his pants, and leaving the bathroom.

Mulder locked the door again behind him. He washed thoroughly, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. Two rounds with soap and he still didn’t feel clean.

 _Why?_ he wondered. Why had he let this happen? Hell, he’d _encouraged_ it, leaving the door unlocked when he’d known perfectly well that Krycek was going to follow him. The truth was, he’d been wanting to do it since he found Krycek in Queens. Just like he’d wanted to when they met in the Hong Kong airport last year. Hitting Krycek was a poor substitute for fucking him, after all.

The truth – Mulder had to make himself look at it; if he was trying to find the truth, he had to start with his own – was that he had never stopped wanting to. Not even after Krycek had killed his father. He’d hated him, and wanted to kill him, but the desire had never gone away. He’d jerked off more than once, thinking about their past assignations, imagining catching up with Krycek in the future. And here had been the perfect opportunity to live out one of his fantasies, to give in to his desire, far from home and Scully and Skinner and anyone else who would care. It was like that Vegas saying. _What happens in the bathroom on the plane to Russia…_

Of course, Mulder was still there. And he knew it was wrong, and he cared. But not enough to stop himself, apparently.

When Mulder returned to his seat, Krycek was asleep, or pretending to be. For a second, as he was reseating himself, Mulder stared at the curve of Krycek’s neck.

Then, he got ahold of himself and looked away.

***

With a sufficient payoff, Krycek got them a ride on the back of a truck. The trip to Tunguska was long, and they passed it in silence, sitting across from each other.

Several hours in, Mulder’s bladder was full to bursting, and he realized he was going to have to relieve himself. But there was no easy way to tell the driver he wanted to stop.

“Just go,” Krycek said, gesturing at the open road behind them. “There’s no one to see you.” He leaned his head back, a small smirk on his face.

Mulder resisted the urge to punch him. It was true; they hadn’t seen another motorist in an hour or more, and they were on back roads. He knew Krycek would be watching, but it wasn’t like he had another choice.

He grimaced and got up on his knees awkwardly, his body stiff after the long hours of sitting. He did his best to angle his body away from Krycek while he relieved himself. It made the whole process easier to lean one shoulder against the side of the truck, anyway. He was about to zip up again when Krycek’s hand landed on his. Mulder tensed; turning his back on Krycek had obviously been a mistake, because now Krycek was leaning into him.

“Don’t,” Krycek said quietly, lips right next to Mulder’s ear. He licked Mulder’s earlobe.

“Stop it,” Mulder said.

“But…” Krycek pressed a kiss to Mulder’s neck. “I’m bored.” He almost sounded playful, and Mulder wanted to throttle him. Theirs was not a playful relationship.

But then Krycek was slipping his hand into Mulder’s still-open pants, wrapping it around his cock and moaning against his neck. He pressed tight to Mulder’s back, and Mulder could feel Krycek’s erection against his ass.

Mulder’s mouth fell open slightly as Krycek stroked him to hardness.

“Damn it, Alex,” he muttered, and turned around and pulled Krycek into a fierce kiss. Krycek moaned again, and louder when Mulder shoved his tongue into his mouth.

The truck went over a bump, and Mulder got his wits about him enough to remember that they could fall out onto the road if they weren’t careful. He sat back down against the wall, pulling Krycek with him. Krycek squeezed in next to him – there was barely enough room – and pulled Mulder in for another kiss, simultaneously starting to stroke his cock again.

 _You shouldn’t be doing this_ , Mulder’s brain reminded him, but he ignored it, fumbling to get Krycek’s pants open. Krycek’s cock was hot and hard in his hand, and the first few pumps elicited a low groan. Krycek was staring at him, but Mulder didn’t know how to interpret his expression. So he kissed him again, letting his teeth scrape over Krycek’s lips, free hand gripping the back of his neck.

They stroked each other faster as they kissed. The back of the truck felt both uncomfortably exposed and uncomfortably intimate, and the discomfort made Mulder feel frantic; it was hotter, even as it made him want it to be over.

Krycek sounded frantic, too, making breathy, choked little noises. He squeezed Mulder’s cock and jerked him faster, and Mulder decided all at once to give in to the pleasure, letting Krycek’s needy sounds and skilled hand drive him over the edge, faster than he would normally have let it happen. He came with a gasp, and as soon as he got himself together he redoubled his efforts on Krycek, wanting to hear him come, wanting this to be over.

Krycek’s forehead was pressed to his, and Mulder could feel Krycek’s panting breath on his lips. As he came, Krycek said “Fox – ” in a strangled voice, and Mulder didn’t know whether to kiss him or strangle him.

He did neither, instead just wiping his hands on his jeans and quickly buttoning them up again. He immediately felt shame and regret flood him, just as it had on the plane. He tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

“This doesn’t change anything, Krycek,” he said.

Krycek straightened up immediately, and started doing up his own jeans.

“Believe me, I know,” he said, and moved back to his side of the truck. His voice and face were unreadable, and after a moment, Mulder looked out at the landscape again, returning his thoughts to the reason for their journey.

***

Later, after they had been captured, Mulder woke up in a gulag; alone, at first, long enough to talk to the man in the next cell. After the guards threw Krycek into the cell, Krycek pawed at the door they had slammed in his face.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “They’re going to torture us.” He crossed to the window, fingers scrabbling at the bars, breathing hard.

“How do you know?” Mulder asked.

“They were questioning me.” He gave up on the window and came to stand in front of Mulder, so they were almost chest to chest. “Trying to get me to confess.”

“To what?”

“To being a spy.”

He was so close; why did he always have to stand too close? Anger rose in Mulder, mixing with the fear he’d felt since he woke up in the prison. Without even thinking, he found himself shoving Krycek against the wall, forearm at Krycek’s throat. Krycek gave a pained cry.

“What did you tell them?” Mulder demanded.

“That we were stupid Americans, lost in the woods.” Krycek was still panting. They stared at each other as Mulder tried to decide if he thought Krycek was telling the truth. After a moment, he could have sworn he saw Krycek’s eyes go dead. “You’re going to need me in here, Mulder.” He shoved Mulder’s arm away. “Don’t touch me again.”

Mulder knew, somehow, that Krycek didn’t just mean violently. He stared at him, feeling more regret than he wanted to admit. It had all been a ploy, then. Of course it had. The second the balance of power shifted, Krycek wasn’t interested anymore.

Still, Krycek didn’t move away, even straightening up in a way that inched him a little closer to Mulder. A dominance move. Mulder turned away, dread gnawing at his stomach.

Whatever it took, he wouldn’t let Krycek get away with this. He wouldn’t let him get away.

**Author's Note:**

> And he doesn't! Until he totally does, in the next episode.


End file.
